


Caught Up On This Feeling

by Bannedd567



Series: Tales of Etheria [6]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Adora (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Brainwashing, Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Catra is Bad at Feelings (She-Ra), Character Study, Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Maybe - Freeform, Missing Scene, Nonbinary Character, Oblivious Adora (She-Ra), POV Catra (She-Ra), Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Sexual Tension, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24867268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bannedd567/pseuds/Bannedd567
Summary: Five senses, five snapshots of Catra's life + one.Somewhat of a character study.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: Tales of Etheria [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809997
Comments: 66
Kudos: 422





	Caught Up On This Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> I tried my best to make sense of the timeline of the show, also taking into account possible pre and post-canon happenings, but I'm running on like three hours of sleep so bear with me, nothing makes sense anymore and time is nothing but a social construct.
> 
> Title comes from [Falling by Mansionair](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXz78cJtx-8).

**1\. TOUCH**

This is the worst day of Catra’s life.

She’s barely seen four summers so far, but she’s never been as scared as she was when she woke up in a small box in front of a completely unfamiliar place. She didn’t remember where she’d come from, but she could tell it hadn’t looked like this, all sharp angles and floors that were too smooth under her feet when she’d tried getting out of her box, only to immediately clamber back in once she felt how cold they were.

She’d been jostled around for the entire day, by people wearing weird clothes and masks that wouldn’t budge under the too weak scratches of her claws when they tried to get her out. They shouted at her, tossed her here and there, and at one point someone had kicked her box so hard that their foot had hit her head, making her all dizzy and sleepy, to the point she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

Then there was a Lady. Catra had fallen asleep at some point, so it had taken her a moment to realise she was being lifted up. When she blinked her eyes open, still a bit groggy and pained, her vision was filled with two white spots in the middle of a mask, red like blood. Catra had screeched and lashed out, on instinct, and the Lady had let her fall back into the box with a resounding thud, her shoulder hitting the ground so harshly it knocked the air out of her chest.

Catra had cried, her sniffles almost drowning whatever the Lady was muttering, her voice all harsh and just as cold as her hand had been. She’d remained there, curled into a ball, hoping everyone would go away and stop hurting her. It had been silent for minutes, hours maybe, until she heard a muffled pit-a-pat of steps and a quiet, surprised gasp.

And now, this weird, blonde girl just won’t leave her alone.

She’s not even doing anything. After she’d stuck a hand inside the box and Catra, in turn, had swiped at it with her claws, she’d retracted with a yelp and, surprisingly, didn’t insist. Didn’t kick the box, or raise her voice, or hit Catra, nothing. And her skin, too, it was so different. Tender and warm, a pale pink, nothing like the hard clothes the ones that brought her in were wearing, or the unnatural chill of that Lady’s grey hand.

The girl is staring down at the nicks in her palm, lips drawn up into a pout and tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. Catra doesn’t realise she’s fully stuck her head out of the box to look at her better until the girl looks up and gasps when their eyes meet. Catra hisses and ducks, claws out and ready to strike. 

“Don’t hide! I just wanna play!” the girl says. Maybe she’s stubborn, maybe she’s just stupid. Catra is not too sure, but what she can tell is that she’s not going away any time soon. Catra sniffs, suspiscious, but the girl really looks harmless. Maybe, if she's lucky, Catra may even get some food out of this. She carefully stands up, meeting interested blue eyes with the most intimidating scowl she can manage, but the girl doesn't budge. “You looked sad in there, don’t you want a friend?”

A friend? She doesn’t even know what that means. Is it someone that won’t be quiet? Or maybe someone that drags you out to play, even when you don’t want to or when you’re scared. This girl certainly looks like the type. But most of all, she seems kind. Patient, even, like she’d be fine just sitting beside Catra’s box for ages if it meant not leaving her alone. Maybe that’s what a friend is. Someone that doesn’t give up.

She steps out of the box. Neither of them moves or says anything for a moment, then the girl gives her a bubbly smile and takes a step forward. Catra doesn't dare make a sound.

“Friends know each other’s names,” the girl wipes her hand on the side of her pants before sticking it out, and wiggles her fingers in an inviting motion. Open and earnest, Catra feels drawn to it like moth to flame. “I am Adora. What's your name?”

Catra cannot give an answer to her gentle voice and hopeful smile, not really, not when the red lines that run across the small palm in front of her face glare angrily at her. Her ears droop, flat against her head, and Catra tucks her chin when tears begin to prick at her eyes. She hurt her. This girl, Adora, just wanted to be nice and play, make her feel better, and Catra made her bleed. She’s a monster.

She hears Adora let out a confused noise, and lifts her head to find her looking from her hand to Catra and back, a couple of times before her expression brightens. “Ooh, I get it!” she exclaims, and, just like that, reaches for Catra, her unhurt palm cupped around Catra’s fingers, her sharp, dangerous fingers, and holds on tightly when she begins to squirm. “Hey, it’s fine, look!”

Adora places the pads of Catra's fingertips over the shallow cuts of her hand. Recklessly, like she didn’t put those there just a couple of minutes ago. Catra draws in a breath and squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for the familiar give of flesh under her nails, for Adora to cry out and recoil in pain.

She’s left to stare, in awe, when that doesn’t happen. In fact, nothing does. Her fingers twitch, slightly, and relax as her claws retract. They’re left hand in hand, palm to palm. Adora feels so soft to the touch, her skin smooth and unmarred, so different from Catra’s fur but easy to get used to all the same. 

“See?” Adora chuckles, grinning so widely Catra can’t do anything but smile back at her. Their palms shift and slide until their fingers curl together, and Adora’s thumb brushes across her knuckles. “We fit.”

They do. They really do. Catra feels a comforting kind of heat spread all the way from their intertwined fingers into her chest, warming a spot in the middle of her ribcage. The feeling grows and grows the more she and Adora stand there together, just beaming at each other with their finger intertwined. 

“You’re cute,” Adora giggles, and that turns into laughter when one of Catra’s ears droops and her nose scrunches up, confused. “It’s a good thing, I promise!”

Oh. Well, then, Catra still doesn’t know what that means, but it can’t be that bad.

She’s happy. So happy that she doesn’t notice the creeping shadows closing in on them, not before it’s too late and they’re surrounded. No more corridor, no more feeble lights, no more box. Nothing but her, Adora, and that Lady from before, looming over them as she slithers through the darkness.

“Adora,” she calls, voice smooth, and the sound makes every hair of Catra’s fur stand on end. She doesn’t know why, but the sweetness in her tone feels as dangerous as the words she spat towards her a while ago. “I thought I told you to stay in your room.”

“We were playing!” Adora exclaims, looking around wildly. Catra wonders if she’s ever seen this before, but the answer must be no considering how terrified she looks. She lets go of Catra and turns, lifting both hands in front of her chest. “I-I'm sorry! She was scared!”

Catra watches the Lady go perfectly still. Her head lowers, just a touch, and her neck moves as she scans Adora up and down. It’s not long before she stops, fixated on Adora’s palms. At the cuts on them, her supple skin still pink and bruised. The Lady’s head shifts to the side, so quickly Catra may have imagined it, but she hasn’t because now she’s left staring straight into white, soulless sockets.

The Lady draws a furious, barely restrained breath. Catra _whimpers._

“Adora,” the Lady with the mask seethes, extending a hand towards the two of them. Catra shivers, tries to make herself smaller behind Adora’s back. The tips of her claws dig into her own flesh, but she’s so scared she can’t force herself to retract them. “I will give you five seconds to step away from that filthy beast.”

Catra swivels her head around, desperately looking for a way out. Adora won’t be able to protect her, not even the box will, so she has to run, far and away, she has to escape and save herself. She wonders if she could drag Adora along, because she doesn’t know why, but the thought of something happening to her makes her feel sick.

“Five,” the Lady begins, softly. Or maybe she’s not that quiet, but the sound is drowned by the sudden appearance of something black and noisy and _scary_ in the middle of her palm. It _screeches,_ spilling from her hand and landing on the floor – or what once was the floor, now swallowed into the void – with crackling sparks. “Four.”

Catra spins on her foot to escape, but she’s stopped by something closing around her wrist. She pants, panicked, and finds out that Adora is scrambling to get a hold of her hand without looking back, leaning as far away from the black energy as she can without moving from her spot. Catra tugs at her arm, silently begging her to move, but Adora is paralysed, only managing to push Catra behind her to shield her from the worst of it. They don’t let go of each other’s hand.

“Three.”

Catra feels tears spill from her eyes and she sobs, pushing her nose in middle of Adora’s back.

“Two.”

Adora is shaking. Adora is shaking so hard Catra can even feel it in her stuttered intakes of breath. She’s so scared it’s a miracle her heart hasn’t jumped out of her chest yet. With her ear pressed to Adora’s body, Catra can hear it slamming, almost as loud as her own.

“One.”

And then something weird happens. Adora goes very still. Catra feels her stance change. She stands straighter, squares her small shoulders, her little ponytail brushing the top of Catra’s hair when she lifts her head to look at the Lady with the mask. The hand still squished between their bodies squeezes, and Catra, not knowing how to react, grips Adora’s hand just as hard.

Adora takes a big breath, and though her voice is small, even shaking a little at the beginning, she sounds completely sure when she says, “I’m sorry, but she’s my friend.”

The scary Lady's hand falls, closed to a fist at her side, and she says nothing as she bends towards them. Catra knows her tail is doing that poofy thing it does when she’s scared, but she’s afraid that if she moves she and Adora will be hit with whatever that black, screechy thing was and she doesn’t want that to happen.

So, instead, she imitates Adora and stands straighter, forcing herself to look back at that creepy face, and steps beside her new friend, trying to stop trembling. She sniffles, but no more tears come out and she keeps her chin up, calling forward all the courage left in her body. The Lady’s head shifts, barely, in her direction. Catra meets her masked stare, head on, the beginning of a hiss bubbling in her throat.

“Very well,” the Lady says, in the end, and turns without laying another finger on them. The shadows recede, and all that’s left in their wake is the flickering light of the hallway. Catra feels like she can breathe again. “But let me make it clear, Adora. She’s your responsibility now.”

Adora goes from stunned to bouncing on the balls of her feet in the blink of an eye, but she forces herself to stop, doing a weird thing where she puts her hand over her forehead and makes a serious face, even though the red woman isn’t even looking at them anymore. “Y-yes, yes, I promise!” she keeps that strange pose for another few seconds, and then she’s turning and grasping Catra’s other hand, grinning wide as she swings them both around, almost vibrating with how excited she is. “And you’ll care for me, right? Pretty please?”

Catra’s arms are starting to hurt, but Adora’s smile makes her smile too. What did she call it, that word from before. Cute? Yeah, Adora is cute, too. So, Catra nods, and it makes Adora beam even more. “I don’t know your name, though,” she tilts her head to the side, frowning, “Wait, do you have one? Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve been asking so much like a dummy when maybe you don’t even-“

“Catra,” Adora blinks, wide eyed, and Catra wonders if she did good by cutting her off. She was starting to talk a lot, it was making her ears hurt. Her tail lashes nervously behind her, and she flushes under the intense blue eyes that don’t stray from hers. Adora gapes, her eyes wide and starry. “My name. I’m Catra.”

“Catra,” She sounds it out, multiple times, a focused pinch to her eyebrows that makes Catra laugh. Adora giggles happily, and with a sense of finality, places her open palm on her chest. “My Catra,” she says, seriously, then extends her arm and her hand finds a place right over Catra’s heart. “Your Adora.”

She doesn’t really understand what’s happening, but she feels it’s important somehow. Adora seems to think so, that’s for sure, and once she lets her arm fall in the space between them, she does this thing where she slides her hands around Catra’s sides and closes them behind her back, her chin brushing over the fur of her shoulder.

Catra bristles for a second, but then the constrictive feelings starts to melt away, and she’s left with a different sensation. Adora is very warm and soft, sure, but this is different. It comes from inside her body, spreading out into her chest and travelling down her legs, her tail, up to her face, even into her hands. Hands that are left hovering awkwardly at her sides. It’s a bit stiff and not comfortable at all, so she just lifts her arms and crosses them behind Adora’s neck to see how it feels.

It’s a completely different thing. The warmth from before grows bigger and bigger, and Catra nuzzles her cheek against Adora’s so hard that some of her blonde hair end up tickling her nose, almost making her sneeze. Peals of giggles fall from Adora’s mouth so Catra does that again, and that funny noise that always comes out of her chest when she’s happy starts rumbling loudly.

Adora gasps, but when she tries to push back Catra holds her tighter. She doesn’t know how, but in such a dark place Adora shines, soft and good, and she’s the brightest thing Catra has seen in a long while. She refuses to let go.

“Are you making that noise? Cool!” Adora gushes, her breath tickling her ear, but at least she stopped trying to move. Catra nods, and Adora goes still, her hands finding Catra’s sides once more. “We are best friends now,” she says, quieter, even though they are the only people around. It’s like her words are reserved for Catra and Catra alone, and no one else should be allowed to hear them. “And we will always be. Is that okay?”

Catra grins, bumping her forehead to Adora’s temple. Her tail thumps against her side, and she lets it loop around Adora’s wrist. “Yeah,” she whispers, nuzzling a little more into Adora’s body, already familiar to her gentle touch. She’s warmth where there’s cold, safety where there’s fear. Catra doesn’t belong here, but neither does Adora. So, maybe, they can belong together.

“Okay.”

**2\. SIGHT**

It’s been about eleven standard years since Catra got dragged out of that box that she finds herself sprinting through the Fright Zone with Adora in tow, trying to escape the wrath of some older cadets. Not her typical night, but better than rotting away listening to Kyle snore, that’s for damn sure.

After curfew rolled around, she’d expected Adora to be her usual goody-goody self and immediately go to sleep. So imagine her surprise when, instead, she was met with a smile that promised mischief and a whispered offer.

“Wanna sneak into the kitchens and steal some grey bars?”

Catra didn’t need to be asked twice, and they’d set off swiftly, rounding corridors they knew like the back of their hands and not worrying too much about being stealthy. Adora had, apparently, studied the timing between each guard shift for a couple of weeks to prepare for this specific mission, and Catra genuinely struggled to suppress a smile at the dorky swagger in Adora’s walk as she led the way.

Which is why, when they stumble upon a boy and a girl barely older than them, their bodies flush together and faces even closer, they freeze. Both pairs stare at each other for an awkwardly long minute before Catra sees the guy lowering a hand to the communicator strapped a his waist, and she decides to make a run for it.

Grabbing Adora’s wrist, she turns and bolts, looking back only once to make sure Adora is following.

After an imprecise amount of time, Catra skids to a stop behind a wall. She catches Adora as she rounds the corner and shushes her startled squeal at being stopped by her sides, where it tickles her the most.

“You think they’ll find us?” Adora’s eyes are frantic as she leans forward to take a peek, struggling against Catra’s hands. Her idiot of a best friend has as much sense of stealth as a tank on its worse days.

“They will if you keep yelling, dumbass!” she hisses, twisting to avoid an accidental elbow to the gut.

Adora gasps, leaning all her weight back on Catra like the little shit she is. “Wha-you’re the one yelling!”

“Am not!"

“Are, t--!”

“Shhh!” Catra slaps her palm over Adora’s mouth, rolling her eyes at the immediate wet drag of a tongue against it. That stopped working, like, five years ago, but she lets her go anyway. “Gross, idiot, now stop screaming.” She wipes her hand on her shirt and dares a glance behind the corner. “See anything?”

Angered voices headed their way keep Adora from answering. Instead, she yelps and drags Catra in the closest hiding place available. A disused broom closet, so small it can barely contain cleaning supplies, let alone the growing bodies of two teenage cadets.

Darkness surrounds them, pitch black, and Catra predicts it will take Adora’s clumsy ass between one and two seconds before tripping over her own feet. When that, indeed, happens, she can only groan as she’s pulled along by a freakishly strong grip.

“Ow, what the hell?” Adora whines as her back hits the wall behind her. Catra’s hands move on instinct, landing just a couple of inches above Adora’s shoulders to avoid slamming into her, least they knock something over and get Shadow Weaver to pop out of a bottle of detergent. “I can’t see a damn thing.”

“No shit, genius,” she drags out, glad that her eyes, if anything, are working like they should. She blinks as they rapidly adjust, and all that she sees is Adora. Her grey-blue eyes are bright and narrowed as she squints with that expression that makes her look dumber than usual, all determined and overtly focused as she stares down at Catra. She is staring _down._

Adora is tall. Catra never really noticed, being so close to her all the time, but she probably hit a growth spurt sometime in the last few months, and her chin is level with Catra’s nose. It makes it that much easier for her to follow the slight definition of her jaw, the way her neck flexes when she gulps, how her upper lip arches just so, the skin all bitten and chapped and a complete mess altogether. So very Adora.

Jutting collarbones catch her attention, and before long Catra is letting her eyes run over the twig-like arms she loves to make fun of so much. Except said twigs have clearly put on muscles, lean and hard and conditioned from constant use, and Adora’s tight shirt clings to her frame much more snugly than what she’s used to. It’s tucked into her pants, because _of course it is, Adora is such a nerd,_ and her waist is trim compared to the wider set of her shoulders.

It’s... odd. She’s seen Adora’s body a thousand times already, knows it like the back of her hand. If she ever needed a better look at it, they shower together, like, every day in the communal bathrooms. It wouldn’t be that hard to just let her eyes travel over to her if she wanted to. Not that she does. So why now, of all times, is she noticing these useless things, like... the curve of her lip? Who pays attention to things like that?

But, apparently, Catra does, because she’s struck by just how _pretty_ Adora is. She’s thought about it before, many times in fact, but never like this. Never clearly, the word creeping on the tip of her tongue with an insistence that refuses to be swallowed down.

Adora is pretty. No, that’s not fair. Adora is _beautiful_. She’s awkward, and clumsy, and gangly in an endearing sort of way, and she’s beautiful. Dangerously so, with her blue eyes and golden hair and that earnest smile that makes Catra feel safe and her stomach twist.

A slow movement in front of her eyes draws a surprised hiss out of her. Adora’s hand freezes midair, right over Catra’s face. Large palms and long fingers, calloused from training. Adora’s hands look rough, but Catra is used to their wonderful contradictions. She knows how powerful they can be during a fight, how they carry weapons like they’re an extension of Adora’s own body. She also knows how delicate they feel when they run over her arm, when they stroke behind her ear, when they hold Catra’s smaller hands with ease and let their fingers tangle.

Most of all, she knows their relentless warmth, how it spreads from her fingertips when they touch Catra’s skin in such a tender way that, really, it’s no wonder that Catra ended up...

It’s a quiet sort of realisation, the type that makes her heart stutter and the world move at half the speed. Nothing too monumental, just a sudden sense of clarity. ‘ _It’s you.'_ It seems to resonate in her brain, crystal clear and loud, like a bell. ‘ _Always has been. Always will be’._ She doesn’t have a name for the feeling that’s soaking up in her chest, not yet, but it matters very little to her with how obvious it is.

Catra is no idiot. So, why is she putting two and two together just now? Adora is beautiful and Catra’s heart belongs to her. They’re fundamental truths, like saying that Shadow Weaver is a bitch or that the Fright Zone is a hell on earth. Simple facts. Terrifying ones.

“Sorry,” Adora’s quiet apology explodes in Catra’s ears at a deafening volume. The tips of her fingers ghost Catra’s cheek until they don’t, replaced by the barely-there touch of her palm against her skin, and Adora gives a small hum in thought. “I just wanted to make sure I know where you are so I don’t hit you. Got a crick in my neck.”

She lowers her head by less than an inch, and Catra can’t fucking breathe because she’s suddenly able to see every minute freckle and scar that mars Adora’s face, could lose herself in those brilliant pools of blue if she wanted to. It would be child’s play, to push up on her tiptoes and do that thing those two older cadets were doing, press their lips together, meld her body to Adora’s and swallow her quiet gasps and _what is going on right now?!_

“Catra?” Adora’s brows are pulled together with poorly disguised concern. Catra feels beside her own body, like she’s watching from a corner as a soft thumb strokes along the line of her cheekbone. They’re so close she’s scared Adora may be able to hear her erratic pulse. “You okay? You’re being so quiet, can you tell if they getting closer? You have better ears.”

Catra scoffs, covering the sound her claws make when they scrape at the metal wall, forcing herself to get a grip through the stinging feeling in her fingers. “Well, well, well,” she stalls, buys herself some time. There hasn’t been any noise outside for minutes now, but if they go out and her face is as red as she’s sure it is, Adora will get all worried and caring and start asking questions, and Catra cannot deal with that right now. “So you finally admit I’m better than you.”

Adora rolls her eyes, her fingers going from gentle to pinching her cheek. Catra whines, but it only results in her face being squished further. “Brat. Is it safe to go out? There’s no air in here.”

Catra knows that feeling all too well. She listens for a moment more, and when nothing catches her ear, she takes a step back. The space between them feels almost glacial compared to the warmth from before, and helps her cool down. Catra keeps her eyes rooted on the door in front of her, breathing until her hands stop shaking. “Let’s go.”

They stay quiet as they walk back, careful to remain out of sight, but as soon as they’re back near their barrack, Adora’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry things didn’t go according to plan,” she whispers, wringing her hands together. “I wanted you to have fun, but it got ruined.”

The realisation and proximity from before still have Catra reeling, but Adora is already digging too deep inside her head and if she can do anything to stop her from becoming even more of a nervous wreck, she will. She softly pokes Adora’s temple with her claw, waiting for her to raise her head. Once she does, Catra gives her a toothy smile.

“I don’t really care about the ration bars. We can always steal them from Kyle,” she says bringing her hands behind her head in a stretch. “Besides, did you see the face those two made when they saw us? I think he was about to explode.”

Adora giggles, muffling the sound with a hand. “His face was redder than Shadow Weaver’s robes.”

“And that squeak?” Catra snickers, pitching her voice up like she inhaled a lungful of helium. “ _’What are you doing here at this hour?!_ ’ I thought it was a mouse talking.”

“You’d know, huh?” Adora snorts, like the asshole she is, ducking before Catra manages to grab her to twist her knuckles on top of that silly pouf of hers.

Catra maintains a haughty silence the rest of the way back, but when Adora doesn’t tease her more, she turns, confused by sudden silence that has enveloped them. What she finds is Adora, her eyebrows arched in what may be surprise, blonde hair falling a bit from her ponytail and her deep eyes... staring. At her.

She forces a blush she knows for sure is rising to stray clear from her face, buries for a moment the words she wants to say, the thoughts ringing in her head, the longing she didn’t know she could feel.

“What?” she asks, instead, and Adora’s mouth parts just so slightly. Catra refuses to let her eyes move from Adora’s warm ones. “What ‘s going on?”

Adora takes a while to answer. “Nothing.”

“Yeah, like I believe that. You have that pained face you make when you think too hard for your tiny brain to handle,” Catra smirks at the glare Adora sends her way. They’re right around the corridor that leads to the sleeping quarters, and Catra stops there, blocking the path. Not that Adora couldn’t pick her up and move her, but she knows she won’t. “I’m serious, dummy. What is it?”

Adora looks at her for an infinite moment, with something hidden in her gaze that Catra can’t decipher, but still makes her feel like squirming. “Your eyes,” she says at last, slowly, like she’s testing the words.

Catra blinks. She does that again. “M-my eyes?”

And it’s like she opened the floodgates to Adora’s brain.

“Yeah,” she breathes, quickly, nodding her head to emphasise the point. “I like watching them, ‘cause they’re big and cool and glow a bit in the dark, you know? I mean, I’m sure you do, they’re yours after all,” Catra can barely keep track of the word-vomit she’s being assaulted by. “They were the only thing I could see back there, and, I don’t know. I think... they’re really pretty.”

There’s a pause before she blurts out that last bit, and Catra wants to pretend, for a foolish moment, that “ _they_ ” was supposed to be “ _you_ ”.

Catra hopes her bravado is enough to mask the tremor in her body. She snatches Adora’s hand and drags her the rest of the way to their bunk. “Psh, careful, weirdo,” she shoves Adora on the cot, jumping away before she can be grabbed around the waist by vice-like arms and brought along for the ride. She plops down at the foot of the bed, curling up in her spot, and wills her heart to stop beating so loud. “Or I’ll start to think you actually like me.”

Adora is watching her still, the corners of her lips tilted up ever so slightly with perceptible fondness. It makes Catra acutely aware that she’s looking back at her in the exact same way, so she sticks out her tongue and curls into a ball, hiding her face in her arms as Adora shakes her head and settles under the covers.

“You wish.”

**3\. SMELL**.

Growing up in the Fright Zone, polluted wasteland extraordinaire, wasn't great for anyone with a working nose. It stunk like burning metal on the better days, like burning shit on the worst ones. Which meant that for Catra, with her enhanced sense of smell, it was just another tally in a long mental list she liked to call _"Ways The Universe is Fucking With Me: an ongoing saga"._

Not that the insides were much better.

The communal bathrooms never lost their charming hints of mould and clogged toilets, not to mention the standard-issued soaps every cadet was provided with could only be used so much before they’d inevitably cause second-degree chemical burns on their skin. One scrub too many and “neutral smell” would become “melted flesh”, offering a guaranteed trip to the medical bay, which happened to possess a sickening mixture of scents, namely antiseptic and death. Not good for the stomach.

As for the barracks, everyone was trusted to maintain their personal hygiene. Some did it better (Adora when she wasn’t so hyper-focused she forgot to shower, Rogelio was a bit of a neat freak, and Lonnie could never go more than a day without washing), some worse (Kyle, who did wash up, but turns out that if you pelt a person with dirty socks enough times they’ll permanently start smelling like them), and some just did (Catra. Look, she may hate water, but she wasn’t gonna go around smelling like _Kyle_ ).

The training room always reeked like burning circuits because of the training bots, while the cafeteria had all of two options. Brown-ration-bar smell, which was awful, or gray-ration-bar smell, which was still awful, but marginally better than the other.

Long story short, nothing could really fix her problem, and after a while it'd become clear to her that the only solution was to either get used to it, or cut her nose off. So, Catra found ways to manage. On the higher platforms the air was just a touch more breathable, and she started to sneak up there as soon as she learned how to climb. Then she roped Adora in, and kept teaching her until she went from uncoordinated to... slightly less so.

The corridors closest to the forge, other than being warmer than others and perfect for cat naps, were built right over the incinerators. If she was lucky, every once in a while, they’d burn branches and logs instead of garbage, sending a wonderful woody scent up the vents. It never failed to relax her.

And then, of course, there was Adora herself.

Catra didn't really know how that worked. Cadets all used the same chemical soap, wore clothes washed in the same chemical stuff, slept under sheets made of the same material, probably some chemically synthesised fabric. Yet, Adora had a distinct smell on her, no matter what. Nothing fancy, really. Standard-issued soap bars, some kind of earthy oil she had to rub on her hands to keep her callused skin from becoming leather-like, a touch of clean sweat. It was just Adora, plain and simple.

A scent that she’d come to associate with easiness and freedom of being. Lazing around in their bunk, sitting shoulder to shoulder as they shared a ration bar, huddling close in the dark while they waited for Kyle to find out his shoes had been glued to the floor, Adora’s dirty blonde hair falling on her face and her body limp over hers as they laid in a heap after training.  
  
That's why She-Ra pisses her off so fucking much. No matter how hard the magic tries to throw her off, how the layers of flawless skin and steely muscles act as an invulnerable cocoon, the lingering smell beneath all that glow and shine is... Adora. It’s similar and different, and it doesn't make fucking sense, not when those other Bright Moon idiots prance around smelling like vanilla and flowers and all other nauseating shit that makes her nose hurt.

But not Adora.

Adora, whose scent is the same even after leaving the Horde behind. Leaving her behind. Adora is always the same, always the hero, always the golden fucking child and Catra can't stand it. It’s even worse when she’s not transformed, because all Catra can smell is the girl that she grew up with, that left her for a bunch of Princesses as soon as she could, that she misses like a lost puzzle piece. That’s when the line between hate and longing blurs, something she can’t afford, not after what Adora did.

That's why, the first time that same old scent changes, it hits her like a bullet.

It happens when she's standing at arm's reach above her, on the edge of an abyss. Adora looks up at her, eyes wide and glassy and pleading. Hurt. There's hurt in them. Fear. Catra can smell it in her sweat. She's seen Adora scared before, anxiety eating away at her before every test or monthly evaluation back in the Fright Zone, so it's not like Catra is not familiar with it.

But the fear was never caused by _Catra herself._

It fills her chest with something wild and feral, and she doesn't think twice about throwing away that stupid sword and leaving without looking back, not sparing a second thought. The stupid building is tailor-made for Adora, anyway. Catra knows for sure she will not die, but that doesn't stop her anger from flaring up when She-Ra stands between her and Bright Moon, covered in even more gold, with an even stupider tiara, and, despite all of that, still smelling like Adora.

Same. Old. Adora.

It makes her sick, invades her nose with an instinctual sense of familiarity and comfort that's so revolting she can barely breathe without vomiting. It's the same scent she can sometimes find on her clothes, the one that is woven so deeply in the blanket she can't bring herself to get rid of.

It has to stop. She needs it to stop.

Catra does the only thing she knows how to do then: that crippling weakness, she trades it for power. The pain she harboured, replaced by strength. The love she buried, festering into hate.

She sinks her claws in Adora's... no, in _She-Ra's_ back, gets a really good grip and drags them down, shoulder to hip. Pristine white fabric turns crimson as blood spills to the ground, warm and slippery between Catra's fingers, the stench of it almost too strong to handle.

There, Adora is gone. So is She-Ra, and the magic, and the scent she stole.

The noise of the battlefield fades away, even She-Ra's pained scream becomes muffled. There's only the smell of blood for a moment. Disgusting, overwhelming, sickly soothing.

It’s a matter of minutes before the rest of the Princesses are there. She-Ra stands among them, at the very centre, a beacon of light and pureness. Incorruptible, not a scratch on her, her wounds healed before Catra’s very eyes. She lifts her sword, there’s a big wave of rainbow happiness and shit, and the Horde is defeated. Just like that.

Catra ignores Scorpia’s feeble attempts at small talk as soon as they get back to the Fright Zone, heading for her room. She doesn’t even think about drying her soaked fur before she starts scrubbing her hands in the sink. Over and over and over again, but the smell refuses to leave, even when she punches the mirror and it’s her blood that starts spilling this time.

She bandages her hand on autopilot, doesn’t bother cleaning any more than what’s necessary before she collapses in her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her blanket is too soft under her back, still carries that stupid scent like a bait, or the sick punch-line of a joke she can’t understand.

Adora is a ghost in the room, looking at her like she was doing earlier, while Catra was flying away on the skiff, always the loser, always second best, holding her gaze until she disappeared through the Whispering Woods. No anger in her stormy eyes, nor contempt or venom. Just sadness, like she feels sorry for Catra.

She left her to die, and Adora still looks at her as if there is a _“maybe”_ between them and not a _“nevermore”_ , as if they could have a future. Wishful and annoying, that’s what Adora is. Pathetic.

Catra sits up. Against her better judgment, she brings the blanket around her shoulders, over her head, burrows herself in it. She curls her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins. A deep breath, two, three, until her heart stops burning from how angry she is and instead aches for a space that cannot be filled, for something that’s missing and will never come back.

Soap, earth, just a hint of sweat. It’s not the same thing, and it will never be.

How fucking pathetic.

**4\. HEARING**

She came back.

Adora, obviously, that idiot.

Ever the paragon of heroism, of course she didn’t listen to her. Of course she stepped into a literal death trap, throwing herself to the slaughter like an animal, and for what? To save her. To save Catra, who of all people is definitely the one that hurt her the most and whose current situation still feels like a small punishment compared to the devastation she’s inflicted on Adora, on the Rebellion, on all of Etheria over the arc of three years.

Catra doesn’t even know how to describe the feeling of hearing your own voice talk but not being the one thinking the words. Saying it’s terrifying would be a gross understatement. It’s... it makes you feel powerless, small. It’s like she’s standing behind a transparent wall, soundproof and unbreakable, beating her fists against it, mute in a sea of voices that all sound the same, think the same, say the same. The final insult after the gut-wrenching suffering she’s been subjected to.

Her body moves, and she’s not the one at the controls. It jumps, attacks, taunts. Sinks her claws into Adora’s skin, kicks and punches, gives her no space to breathe. And it’s not like Adora counters blow for blow, no. She dodges, hitting her only when it’s absolutely necessary. She keeps talking, telling her she’s not going to give up, that they’re going home, and it drives Catra up the fucking wall because Adora is getting hurt, _again_ , because of her.

Catra doesn’t want to see it. She doesn’t want to hear it. She thought she’d be done, that she’d never see Adora again and, maybe, that it would have been enough to stop her from always being the sacrificial lamb. It was the least she could do. A small price to pay, her life, to save the one of the girl that left her and broke her heart. The girl that Catra hurt so much, that Catra never stopped loving.

“I’m going to take you home.”

It’s almost funny, how the tables have turned. Adora, always looking for orders to fulfil, refused to leave Catra behind even when her mission was done, Glimmer safe and sound on their ship, and she was told to stay away. Catra, good at following rules like oil is at mixing with water, clings onto Adora’s words as if those alone could save her.

Adora. So stupid, and brave, and wonderful. Filled with hope for Catra’s rotten self, like simple willpower and stubbornness could break Prime’s control and set her free. She’s so painfully naive, and Catra loves her so much she can’t stand the thought of hurting her anymore. She’d rather die, throw herself down the depths of this stupid flagship before Prime could take control of her again and lay another finger on Adora.

But she’s a liar at her core, and nothing but a beast running on instinct. She wants to go home, more than anything, and Adora sounds so sure, so determined that Catra for a moment, can almost believe her.

“Promise?”

It’s a fight within herself to get those words out of her throat. Not just because of Prime’s voice getting louder and louder in her ears, no, but because Adora is looking at her with tears in her eyes and an extended hand, palm open and vulnerable, just shy of Catra’s sharp, extended claws, not even contemplating the possibility of getting hurt.

And Catra wants to take it. She wants Adora’s voice to envelop her in its warmth and drown out the ones already inside her head.

“I promise.”

It’s all that Catra’s ever wanted to hear.

So, of course it doesn’t last.

The only silver lining in all of this, she finds herself thinking as she plummets to her death, consciousness rapidly fading and the broken sound of Adora’s scream echoing from above, is that she’s dying as herself.

The darkness is a welcome change of pace. For a moment, she considers staying here, where it’s silent and comforting, and there’s nothing that could harm her. But something warm tugs at her heartstrings, insistent and gentle, and she’s too tired not to follow that pull.

Then she’s waking up again and everything hurts like a bitch. There’s not a single bone in her body that’s not screaming in protest at each and every minimal movement she hasn’t even begun to make. Even the roots of her hair hurt, though, that’s understandable considering how hard she’d pulled at them when she’d first tried to resist the chip. Just thinking of moving seems impossible.

Her body gradually begins to register its surroundings. She’s lying down, her upper back supported by something warm and slightly shaky. There’s a hint of blood in her mouth, she’s drenched in sweat and tears, her skin tingles all over, and she has a killer headache. It’s the best she’s felt in a long while.

There are no voices, not even a whisper. Instead, she hears a constant, subdued whirring noise. It’s so different from what she’s become used to, the eerie silence of the endless corridors of Prime’s ship at first, then the never-ending, whispered chatting of the hive mind. There’s a quiet sound of breathing, one she recognises easily. She grew up listening to it, after all. She’s dreamed about it for ages, pretended to despise it for three years, yearned for its comfort as her sanity was gradually chipped away and replaced by green light and thoughts that weren’t her own.

Of all the people Prime has pulled out of her memory to break her, Adora takes the number one spot. There have been many Shadow Weaver's, many Scorpias and many Entraptas, even Double Trouble a couple of times. But nothing worked on her decaying psyche quite like Adora did. The ones she saw were always different, each one aimed to draw a particular feeling out of Catra to speed up the emotional suppression, all with different things to say.

Adora, barely five, helping her out of that box and standing up to Shadow Weaver, her voice small but steady. _Friendship and gratitude._

Adora hugging her in their bunk or skipping dinner to keep her company, making promises she couldn't always fulfil, but still did her best to keep. _Comfort and care._

Adora at fifteen, a painting of beauty inside a broom closet, whining she can’t see with her dumb human eyes. _First love and desire._

Adora in Thaymor, kneeling on the ground and calling after Catra’s retreating back. _Heartbreak and betrayal._

Adora, scared and hopeful, begging for her help in the Crystal Castle. _Spite and anger._

Adora in front of the portal, glaring at her through She-Ra’s electrifying eyes and asking why she pulled that stupid, fucking lever. _Regret, regret, REGRET._

Adora telling her she’s safe, kissing the pain away, and carrying her far from Horde Prime’s ship --

_Save me Adora, please, it hurts and I miss you and I love you and I want to do better, be better and I’m-_

\-- right before getting her throat ripped out by a swipe of claws Catra has no control over, words of hate gurgling out from a mouth filled with blood as the light in her eyes fades and her body goes cold and --

_\- sorry, Adora, I’m so sorry, don’t come here, I’m not worth it, he’s waiting for you, please stay away, pleasepleasepl-_

Catra hears it. It’s distant and muffled, because her senses are still trying to overcome the pain that runs marrow-deep inside her body, but she can still distinguish a soft sound, a pulse that she knows like the one beating in her own chest.

She almost wants to laugh. Prime’s got her good. That last one was bad enough already, but this is new. It fills her with a feeling of hope she’d thought had been lost forever. She never managed to reach a point where she’d actually be saved, before. Catra would like to cry, but she doesn’t know if she has tears left in her body.

But then.

A sudden, weak coughing fit makes her bones rattle in her chest as her lungs expand and fill, hungry for air. She turns her head on instinct, following little more than an instinct, and the volume grows. It’s stronger. It’s alive. She wants to believe it’s real, and finally gathers enough strength to open her eyes.

And what a view it is.

The Adora in front of her is a mess. Dust and debris on her face, wet trails of tears running down her cheeks, thin scars both new and old her personal brand of constellations. She smells like blood, sweat and fear, her wide eyes bloodshot as she stares down at Catra. She looks incredulous with hope, beautiful and tired and too good to be true. She can feel her hand cradling the back of her head, fingers tangled in Catra’s shorn hair as she holds her in her arms.

Adora is holding her. She’s here. She saved her.

The heartbeat picks up speed and volume, flutters rapidly the second their eyes lock. Real. It’s real, it’s loud, it’s alive, it’s real.

Catra’s head rolls to the side and her right ear gets squished against Adora’s chest. It picks up the rapid drum of her heartbeat more and more, the most wonderful melody she’s ever heard. She feels like she’s swallowed broken shards of glass when she tries to speak, but the words are out of her mouth before she can even stop them. “Hey, Adora.”

And.

It's incredible.

Adora gifts her with a smile, a bright one that lights up her entire face even as tears stream steadily down her face. Her strong hands lift Catra up without effort, and, before she can wrap her head around it, Adora is hugging her. Catra hears her relieved sobs before she feels them, how they shake into Adora’s chest as they tumble past her lips into Catra’s ears.

It’s... unreal. It’s like she’s been missing a piece of herself for too long and she’d forgotten how to be whole. Catra isn’t sure she deserves this. No, scratch that, she’ll never, not in a million years, be deserving of this... this love, and protection, and this feeling of complete, utter safety.

So much vulnerability in a simple gesture. It used to scare her more than anything, but she craves it so badly and, as much as she wishes she could change, she’s an expert at being selfish. 

The warmth of Adora’s body seeps into her own and Catra _lets herself go_. She clings to Adora’s back like her life depends on it, shuts her eyes and burrows her face in the curve of her shoulder like she used to do when they were kids. Catra isn’t even aware of the purr that’s rumbling out of her. All she knows is the beat of Adora’s heart, the familiar stutter in her breath and her quiet sniffles.

There’s not a single inch of her body that isn’t begging for rest, and Catra is pretty sure she’s going to pass out again soon enough, but Adora’s heartbeat is thrumming against her chest and under the hand Catra is holding over her back. It surrounds her and tells her that she can stay here, and Adora won’t leave because that’s what she is, at her core: a stubborn idiot, too good to be true. That, for some reason Catra can’t understand, she cared, she still cares, and will probably never stop.

It sounds like coming home after an endless journey.

It sounds like a promise.

**5\. TASTE**

Catra doesn’t know if it’s a common thing, but she knows how magic tastes.

Or, at the very least, she thinks she knows, but it’s hard to really tell when she is, so far, probably the only person in Etheria to have come to this particular realization.

When she was little, she’d come to associate magic with the bitter taste of iron, mostly because Shadow Weaver’s lightning would make her muscles lock up and she’d end up piercing through her tongue with her teeth if she wasn’t careful. So, yeah, not a great first impression all things considered.

Her second taste test? Well, Catra doesn’t know what glitter _actually_ tastes like, but if she had to guess, Glimmer comes pretty fucking close to it. Her hand does, at the very least. A sparkle here, a sparkle there, here, take this magical ray of death to the face, probably some more sparkles. It leaves an aftertaste of glitter and doom, which somehow used to sum up Glimmer’s character perfectly.

Her third taste, she doesn’t directly get. The day after they freed Erelandia and reclaimed it in the name of the Rebellion, Adora had slept in a little later than usual. Meaning, she hadn’t woken up at the ass-crack of dawn, and was still fast asleep when Catra first blinked her eyes open. So, she had taken advantage of the general state of the exhaustion of their companions and spent a little while watching Adora sleep, tracking the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and the way her lips parted with every breath.

Okay, it had been more than a little while. Actually, she’d completely lost track of time, and hadn’t noticed Melog silently approaching the scene. Fed up with her cold feet, they’d decided to act as Adora’s personal wake-up call via licking her entire face.

The burn in Catra’s cheeks could have rivalled the forge back at the Fright Zone, but Melog kept to it until Adora stirred with a snort, rolling on her side and asking them for another five minutes. Her hair was spread on her pillow like a golden halo, and the definition of the muscles in her arms and shoulders, even when relaxed, was enough to give Catra whiplash.

Melog was preparing another assault when Catra had seized them by their neck, shaking her head and thinking at full volume every possible prayer she knew in hope they’d catch on. Melog had looked confused, shrinking to the size of a small kitten, and wormed their way on Catra’s lap.

_‘I do not understand. You were staring for a while. Is that not what you want?’_

“Not exactly how that works, buddy,” she’d sighed, giving the space cat a nuzzle on the snout when they started pawing at her face, demanding cuddles. How to explain the concept of consent to an alien creature a couple thousand years old, she had no idea. “And I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want me to, anyway.”

_‘Good taste, like magic. She is sweet. You would like it.’_

“Yeah,” Catra hissed, the heat of her face spreading all the way to the tip of her ears. “I could have guessed.”

Melog had dropped it after that, sensing the conflict inside of her, but their habit of pouncing on Adora to lick her face remained. That wasn’t exactly their fault, either.

Her next taste, however, is as direct as can be. The Heart of Etheria is ready to explode around them, and it’s a matter of minutes before they both die, but Catra can only focus on Adora.

Adora, who was going to sacrifice her stupidly heroic self, who had stopped breathing at some point, her body cold, and pale, and ensnared by pain. Adora who was dying, had been dying until a couple of minutes ago.

Adora who is looking at Catra.

Adora who stayed, Adora who loves her.

Her mouth is busted, all bloody and salty, and wet from her tears. Or maybe from Catra’s, but she can’t be bothered to find out, because Adora’s lips are the single best thing she’s ever tasted in her entire fucking life. She can feel herself trembling all over, but somehow her hands are steady as they hold Adora close, one palm on her jaw and the other on her back, supporting her when she surges up into Catra’s touch.

There’s a flash of brilliant light that’s exploding behind her closed eyelids, but Catra refuses to look, too scared that if she does it will all turn out to be a dream, a wishful illusion, and that Adora will be laying dead into her arms and she can’t do it, not right now, not when they’re finally _together_ and Adora is kissing her back, with all the enthusiasm her exhausted body can manage and she tastes...

It changed. Her taste, her flavour, it just changed. And it’s amazing.

Warm, full, so, so sweet, _magical_. Melog was wrong, she doesn’t just like it. She fucking loves it.

Adora pulls away a fraction, her breath warm over Catra’s face, but she’s leaning back into it already and Catra tilts her head up to meet her half-

Wait. Pause, rewind. _Up?_

Catra unwillingly lurches away from Adora, who whines low in her throat - and that’s something Catra is _not_ about to address because her brain can only handle so much before it crashes – and if anything holds her even tighter. Her hands circle almost the entirety of Catra’s waist in a snug grip, like she's afraid to let her go, and her eyes are shining when they flutter open, two beacons of piercing blue light that look at Catra like she’s the only thing that exists in the entire Universe. The metal of her shoulder plates feels cold under Catra’s arms, looped around Adora’s neck, while her legs, with no ground to stand on, have apparently decided it would be a good idea to wrap around white-clad hips.

Adora sighs tiredly, the gem of her headpiece gleaming in the residual light around them, and rests her forehead to Catra’s. “Why’d you stop, is this another one of my dreams?” she sounds a bit winded, like she just took a hit to the head. Or kissed the girl she loves.

Adora loves her, she just said she loves Catra. They were kissing a millisecond ago. This is all happening.

Catra would like to ask several questions about that particular " _another one_ " detail, but Adora's breath catches, panicked, while her eyes grow as large as dinner plates. “Wait, am I dead? Can the dead dream? Is this one of your tricks, Prime, you son of a motherfu-“

“Adora,” Catra cuts her off with a laugh, cupping her cheeks in her hands. Her face feels like it’s about to break with how hard she’s grinning, happy tears gathering at the corners of her eyes before she can stop them. “You might want to look down.”

Adora blinks, puzzled, and slowly lets her eyes fall from Catra’s face to look between them. She gasps as she takes in the height, the body, the clothes, the tingling feeling of magic pulsing around them. “I’m She-Ra again,” she breathes, awe positively dripping from every word, and then she’s looking at Catra with the single most breathtaking smile she’s ever seen. “She-Ra’s back! Catra, you brought her back!”

_“It wasn’t me, dummy,_ you _did that.”_

That’s what Catra wants to say, but she can’t because Adora is kissing her again and all thoughts fade into an indistinct fuzz. “You brought _me_ back,” Adora whispers once they part, much more softly, and there’s little Catra can do to stop herself from pressing their mouths together once more, smiling against Adora’s upturned lips, tasting her laugh, her breath, just _Adora_.

The ground above trembles violently, and it’s all it takes for Adora to remember the task at hand. She lets Catra down gently, grabbing her hands in one of hers as soon as her feet touch the ground. “I have to go,” she says, tracing Catra’s cheekbone with the back of her knuckles. “Will you be alright? You know how to find the exit, right? How are your injuries, are you good to-“

“Adora.”

Catra can’t help herself. She moves closer and stands on her tiptoes as she tugs Adora down. Her face is burning, which is stupid because they’ve been kissing for what feels like forever now, but she still places her lips on Adora’s forehead, her ears perking up at the quiet intake of breath she earns in return.

Once she steps back, there’s a matching, pretty flush colouring She-Ra’s cheeks, her blue eyes wide and amazed. “For good luck. Not that you’ll need it,” Catra supplies, nodding towards the archway they entered from. She blinks up at her, slowly, taking in the sheer wonder that is Adora’s smile. It’s a lovesick sort of grin, one that makes her skin crawl and her insides twist in the best of ways. “Go kick his ass, now, will you? I’ll be right behind you.”

Adora sputters out a laugh, and leans in so quickly Catra doesn’t have the time to process it. She gives her a firm, graceless kiss, pulling away with a resounding smack, and runs off with a “be careful!” thrown behind a shoulder.

Catra chuckles, softly, before her body and mind finally catch up to everything that’s happened in the last few minutes. Her heart is beating so fast it can’t be healthy. She feels larger than life, suspended in a state of disbelief at a couple of inches from the ground. She’s never felt more alive

Holy. Shit.

Her knees start shaking and she sinks to the ground, fingertips ghosting over her mouth. She lays on her back, eyes staring up at the now quieted Heart, a helpless smile on her face. The air is still around her. The taste lingers on her lips, but she’s missing it already.

Bloody and salty. Warm, full, sweet.

Adora.

So fucking magical.

**6\. BONUS (SIXTH SENSE)**

Something’s not right.

Catra startles awake with a jolt, trying to make sense of her surroundings while her brain in still fogged by the deep sleep she’d fallen into. She sputters dark strands out of her mouth, pushing her hair out of her face. The sturdy weight of Adora’s arm on her waist is missing, as is the loud wail that has accompanied nearly every night of the last few months. One month and twenty-seven days, actually, but that’s not the point.

Melog is at her side in seconds, purring and laying over her legs until the anxiety bubbling in her chest begins to quell. _‘All good’,_ they tell her, arching against her trembling hand when she instinctively digs her fingers in their cool mane, the colour shifting from crimson to a blue that reminds her of Adora’s eyes. ‘ _She is with the cub. They are both safe.’_

Catra exhales a heavy breath and sags back into the mattress, dragging a palm down the length of her face. She pats Melog on the head in gratitude when they come closer to lick her cheek before retiring to their nest of pillows in the corner of the room. Over eight years after the end of the war and it’s still so easy to feel on edge at the smallest sign of trouble. She forces herself to lay down, counting her breaths for a couple more minutes as her heart goes back to a normal rate.

She gets up from the bed and quietly steps to the room adjacent theirs, already knowing where to step to avoid the squishy toys and stuffed animals scattered on the floor. The closer she gets, the more she’s able to make out a distinct, familiar snoring pattern that never fails to make her smile. She tries to be as quiet as possible, hating to even think about waking up the most important people in her life when they’re clearly both sleeping soundly for once.

Which doesn’t really help her case, because the sight presented to her is so incredible that she has to slap both hands in front of her mouth to avoid waking the entire castle with an undignified sound.

Adora is _in_ the crib. She’s half-sprawled on her back, snoring with her with mouth wide open, an arm bent in a weird way supporting her head. Her long legs are hooked over the rail, but even like that she barely manages to fit in. Finn is sleeping like a log on her chest, slack jawed, unconsciously flexing their tiny claws in the cotton of her tank top, and drooling almost as much as Adora is. Her hand spans their entire back, keeping them safe and warm.

Knowing that the camera Bow gifted them to take pictures and videos is just out of reach, on their desk in the other room, makes her hands itch, but she can’t possibly miss even just a second of _this_. Catra will not squeal, she will _not_ , she is an adult woman with a reputation and she’s above that.

Still, when Finn shuffles, tucking their knees under their body and pushing their little butt up in the air only to belly flop in their original position a second later, making Adora wheeze in her sleep, she really can’t help the snort that decides to escape from her mouth.

Adora’s beautiful face scrunches up a bit and she groans, slowly starting to blink her eyes open. They wander aimlessly through the room before they met Catra’s face. She stares at her for a few seconds, trying to figure out where she is, then the tension melts. She closes her eyes and sighs deeply, lips curling up into a cheeky, little smile.

“Hey, love...” she whispers, all slurred and tender in that way Catra can’t resist. “’s not what it looks like.”

“Really, now?” Catra snickers, kneeling over the border of the crib. She reaches down with a hand, smoothing Adora’s hair out of her face and trailing her fingers down her cheek. Adora leans into her touch, giving her fingertips a kiss when they reach her lips. She hums, which Catra assumes is her way of agreeing. “Care to explain, then?”

“Woke up. Heard 'em fussin’. Didn’t wanna wake you,” she croaks, adjusting her light grip over Finn’s back. Adora twists slightly, pressing a light kiss to their baby’s forehead. Finn wiggles a bit in turn, scooting up and hiding their head under their mother’s chin in a motion that reminds Catra of herself.

“Barely two months in and you’re stealing my favourite spot already,” she mutters while gently carding her fingers through the thick, dark locks that fall in front of shut bluebell eyes. Every single part of Finn is so soft and delicate she can’t help but think they may break at the slightest of pressures. It only makes her want to protect them more. “You’re my child alright.”

“I dunno,” Adora smirks up at her, which doesn’t really work since her face is still all soft with sleep, and the result is a lopsided smile that makes her look even more like a dork. “You were pretty cute, but I think Finnie here just blows it out of the park.”

“Excuse you,” Catra digs her fingers into the sole of Adora’s foot to tickle her. She follows a path up her shin to her knee when she’s kicked away, unwilling to stop touching her. “I was the cutest little thing. A fucking delight to the eyes, is what I was.”

“Catra,” Adora gasps, bug-eyed, and brings a protective palm to cover Finn’s droopy ears. “Not in front of the baby.”

“We’ll have to rule Glimmer out of babysitting duty, then,” Catra snorts, ridiculously in love with this woman. “She’ll singlehandedly make a sailor out of our kid.”

“I’ll take that into account,” Adora nods as she rolls her foot to dispel the ticklish feeling. “Besides, Glimmer won’t be a problem, because I’m just going to stay here. I’m not moving ever again.”

“You definitely won’t, all bent like that,” Catra pokes her in the arm, the pressure making Adora squirm as much as she can while being stuck. “Is blood even flowing in that arm? Or the rest of your body?”

“No, but it’s all good,” Adora breathes, shuffling around as she does her best to untangle her hand from underneath her head. It’s a sight to see, really, such a valiant attempt. Catra just stares at her as she hisses and groans before going completely still, her lips pursed in a pout. “Okay I was lying, my arm’s dead and this is awful.” She looks up at Catra again, smiling toothily. The sleepy eyes and dimpled grin really make look like a young teen again. “Would be better if you were here, though.”

“I don’t think the crib would appreciate that.” How she wishes she could climb in and snuggle up to Adora’s chest, tuck Finn between the two of them and listen to the fluttery beat of their heart as they sleep peacefully. She looks back at their bed, cold and uninviting without Adora beside her. That’s when a genius idea comes to life in her head and she grins, feeling giddy. “I mean, there is a simple solution to that.”

Adora, the brilliant dork that she is, catches on quickly. She laughs softly, careful not to jostle the baby on her chest. “You do remember we agreed we’d actually _try_ to use the crib, right?”

“And look how well that’s working,” Catra points out, using a finger to prod at Adora’s bent elbow again. “The mighty She-Ra, defeated by a piece of furniture.”

“It’s a good way to go,” Adora looks down at their pride and joy, sighs as her fingers tickle the tip of a twitchy ear. “Wow, we’re really going to spoil you rotten, aren’t we?”

Catra rolls her eyes fondly and shrugs, her mind already made up. “Hey, I think we’re allowed to pamper our own child every once in a while. It won’t happen that often, anyway,” she beams down at the loves of her life, fully aware that she’s lying, extending her arms and making grabby motions. “C’mon, gimme. I want to hold our future spoiled brat, too.”

Adora groggily sits up, wincing as her body starts to regain feeling, and carefully hands Finn over before stretching. Finn tosses around a bit, but as soon as they take in Catra’s scent and warmth, they curl against her chest and keep sleeping, pushing their ear over her heart. While Adora slowly gets out of the crib, Catra moves back to the bed, singing a random tune under her breath to lull their kid deeper into slumber. She allows herself to purr, the slightest of vibrations, and watches, smitten, as Finn instinctively snuggles closer.

When Adora finally makes her way over, Catra is already sitting down, lips on the crown of Finn’s head as she rocks them gently. They smell so good, like baby powder and milk, and some of Adora’s scent has even rubbed off on them. Adora stops in front of her, and when Catra looks up at her she is met with a gaze so full of adoration, so full of love and devotion, that she feels heat rise up to her cheeks. Only Adora could do that to her, even after all their years together. Even after marriage and a kid.

Not like she’s complaining.

Adora brings her hand under Catra’s chin, tilting her head up towards up. “I love you,” she murmurs against her lips, and it feels like a rush of warmth down Catra’s body. Adora glances down at the sleeping baby between them, lowering her head further to place a gentle peck on the back of their head. “I love the both of you. So much.”

Catra nudges her forehead with her cheek, silently asking Adora to look at her. When she does, she immediately pulls her into a kiss. One of Adora’s hand climbs to grab her shoulder, rubbing up and down her bare arm. Catra inches away to breathe, but still manages to plant a few more kisses along Adora’s defined jaw, listening to her quiet laugh.

“I love you, too, Adora,” she whispers, feeling herself smile as Adora’s taste settles on her tongue. Earlier, changing Finn’s diaper, she had used so much baby powder she ended up breathing a lungful in. She sneezed and coughed for at least five minutes and Catra thinks she’s never laughed harder. “Now come here.”

Making sure Finn is properly secured, Catra scoots back, letting Adora climb in after her. She lays down and, the second Adora’s arms open, she dives in them immediately, pushing her face in her neck just like Finn had done earlier. Adora yawns deeply and hums, content. She pulls her close, letting her lips brush on Catra’s forehead. Back flush against Adora’s chest and head on Catra’s breast, Finn grasps the light fabric of her shirt in tiny fists, the tip of their tongue poking out from their mouth.

“Oh, come on,” Catra gapes, looking down at Finn with barely open eyes. She really thought they couldn’t get more adorable, but... this kid’s just full of surprises. “Are you seeing this?”

Is this how Bow felt all those years ago on Krytis? Or even now, when she has to glare for a couple of minutes straight for him to stop cooing at her whenever she sneezes? Because she could get used to it.

“The cutest,” Adora agrees readily, that soothing voice of hers cracking under the pull of sleep. Her cheek rubs on Catra’s forehead as she nods. “I can almost forgive them for not letting us get any rest.”

“Hey, I told you. We could take turns. But no, you always go all “protective wife” on me.”

“You love it.”

“Damn right I do. You’re amazing,” Catra says, and grins into her neck at her restrained chuckle. The slow rise and fall of Adora’s chest hypnotizes her, and her scent, mixed with Finn’s delicate one, is steadily weighing down on her eyelids. Catra lets her eyes fall shut, welcoming the darkness. “By the way, all the cryin’? That comes... from you...”

A slight rumble is her only answer. Adora mumbles something again, absentmindedly, and her head lolls to the side, until her cheek is fully propped against Catra’s temple. Catra follows her into sleep a moment later, right after she adjusts her grip on Finn one last time.

It’s only when the sun is high in the sky the next morning that she opens her eyes, woken by pitchy, happy coos and melodic giggles.

Just inches away, but somehow still too far, Adora is laying on her stomach with her hands cushioning Finn’s small head. Finn is pawing at Adora’s cheeks as she nuzzles her nose to theirs, peppering quick kisses all over their face. Their stubby tail lashes around, frenetically, and their eyes gleam like jewels in the bright morning light.

Catra’s breath hitches at the sight. Her heart is faltering, overwhelmed by the love she feels for the two people in front of her, so much that each and every one of her senses seems pushed to capacity with how much she can feel . She wishes she could remain frozen like this, staring at this picture of perfection that she doesn’t know how she got her hands on. All she knows is that she’d do it all again, re-experience all the pain, all the grief, all the suffering, if it brought her where she is now.

_I love you. So, so much._

Adora’s head snaps up, a pretty flush on her face. She’s beaming the brightest of smiles, just a tad shy, and Catra realises, with a start, that she said that out loud. “We love you, too, don’t we, Finnie?” Adora says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. She tilts her head, her loose hair falling like a waterfall of gold around her bare shoulders.

Finn rolls to the side, arms extended towards Catra, and gives her a bubbly grin, mewling in greeting. “Yup, we sure do,” Adora hums in tune, eyes never leaving Catra’s as she grabs one of Finn’s hands in her own, moving both side to side to give her a small wave. “Good morning, Catra.”

Never has something been more true.

“'morning, my loves.”

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Oh, I just want to write some catradora cuddles with baby Finn, nothing too big.
> 
> Also me, twelve hours later staring at all 12k+ words: How did I get here?
> 
> Anyway, can you tell I have no fucking clue how three years old talk? Let's just pretend they were perfectly able to form those kind of sentences, yeah? I have a [Tumblr](https://bannedd567.tumblr.com/) if you want to scream about whatever, I'm always open to conversation.  
> Comments and kudos are always much appreciated, but if you've even made it this far I'm already thankful.  
> Toodles!


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